


towns roll over after six

by kamekaze



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, how can they be SO DUMB and yet SO SMART, slowly rolls arcade au into a generic games and puzzles au, theyre DUMB theyre SO DUMB i want to strangle them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24878578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamekaze/pseuds/kamekaze
Summary: in which dirk and john either both have the braincell, or neither of them do there is no in between(originally written for prompt sprint event on the dirkjohn server)
Relationships: John Egbert/Dirk Strider
Comments: 17
Kudos: 145
Collections: Purrsonal Picks, dirkjohn flash sprints





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is John Egbert and you have a problem. Right now you are standing in front of your favorite game at an arcade so appropriately named “The Arcade”—you will have words with the owner about that later—and the name you worked so hard to put on top of the leaderboard last summer is gone. Not in second place or third, or even eighth, all of them are just written over by some prick named “DIK”.

Oh they _are_ a dick alright, but no matter, because Dik is about to eat your dust.

Little does Dik know that you are the undisputed master of Missile Command. You spent a good number of summers camped at this very spot trying to get the high score. You’ve gotten pretty good at it! The objective of the game is to defend your bases against missiles. Pretty simple premise, simple graphics, and you’ve lost what must have been hundreds of hours to this game all because you watched Ghost Busters one too many times and paused the screen at the right moment.

You crack your knuckles and get started. This day is gonna be a long one.

*

Your name is Dik—Dirk—Strider and you notice that the leaderboard has changed. Which is odd. You’ve been working part-time at this establishment since it opened and you can’t recall anyone ever venturing down this corner of the arcade, filled with relics of the 80s. You mostly do upkeep, keeping the cabinets in working order and in addition to your regular paycheck the owner lets you mess with some of the older ones no one plays. Hence, Missile Command.

It’s a shame though, because the game is a classic. It has everything—bright, flashing graphics, low-fidelity sounds, controversy over its nuclear themes during the cold war. It’s become one of your pet projects.

In retrospect, the signs were all there. It wasn’t as dusty as the rest of the cabinets tucked in this alley. It also happens to be the only one plugged in.

Fuck all that though, you need to correct a few things, i.e. taking down this “SUK MAI DIK LOV JON” (they took up five whole spots to spite you? _Adorable_.) down a few pegs.

*

You’re John again. You stare up at the leaderboard, less in dismay this time but in quiet resignation, as you see your score replaced by Dik’s again. This time the scoreboard also flashes an ASCII rendering of a butt. You didn’t know it could do that.

But wait, surely you can’t let this slide uncontested? Lovingly drawn butt image aside, the names replacing your hard-earned high scores spell out, “ARE YOU OFF ERI NG?”

You shake your fist up to the ceiling and stomp away. Your faithful best bro follows behind you, arms full of cheesy snacks and soda, ready for an all-nighter at the arcade. “Where are you going?”

“Home!” is what you grit out, but then you stop to help offload some of the junk in Dave’s arms. “That’s okay with you right? We can watch movies at my place instead?” Dave makes a face, but breathes out a sigh.

“Okay, but I’m choosing the movies.”

“You can choose _one_ movie. _And_ you don’t get to talk over it.”

“What!” Dave flails his arms in indignation. He forgot he was holding things. “You know I’m like a volcano with my spitting hot fires, you plug me up I’m just gonna explode even harder, louder, messier—” You shut him up before he embarrasses himself further. Rose could be anywhere, taking notes. You’re just helping a bro out.

*

The mysterious Jon doesn’t show up for another week, which worries you a little, but only because you were looking forward to their scathing rebuttal. Your time at the arcade has been pretty quiet and having something to anticipate on slow days has really been helping with your mood.

Dave even said as much: "Your face looks less constipated lately."

The two of you are twins...

Anyway, it turns out you didn't have to worry for too long because today the leaderboard has changed to tell you “NOT IFU SUK DIS BAD !!! HAH !!!” in bold bright neon colors. Aw. You clutch your chest at this heartfelt message. That’s a whole eight spots, too, all a few thousand points away from each other. It beats yours and Jon’s previous scores by a cool couple million, which you think just beat a world record?

You scrap your previous plans and decide to send him a different message.

*

You’re John again, and you’ve just come home after a successful afternoon wiping the floor with Dik’s stupid score. You’re glowing, the neon colors in the cathode ray tubes making up the screen must have been radioactive or something, _and_ you just got a message from your dad that a huge package has arrived.

The reason why you went home so early last week with Dave was because you immediately had to beg your father to let you buy this thing. You’re really glad your dad is so supportive because this is what you traded five weeks at clown camp for. Not that you even wanted to go in the first place, so it’s a win-win.

It sits in the center of the living room in front of the fireplace housing the ashes of your dear, sweet Nanna. Your dad has already set it up for you.

You start up the game and spend a few hours on it without pause until your dad calls to you and you lose. It’s a pretty good score though, you think, so you proceed to enter your name on the leader—wait. There is no leaderboard. Where is it?

You check under and behind the cabinet, like a complete tool. Well, not a _complete_ tool, because behind the machine there is a pamphlet that had a little infosheet on the history of the game and how to play. You see no mention of a leaderboard anywhere.

The knowledge of this steeps in your brain for a while until you bolt up five hours later in bed, screaming loud enough to wake the dead, “It’s _hacked!_ ”

The very next day you rush straight to the arcade as soon as you’re able. The scores have changed again but this time it flashes across the screen in a beautiful glowing marquee. All of the scores are exactly 2,147,483,647 and all of the names are gibberish. Well, it _looks_ like gibberish. A few pages flash by before it loops back around and this time you make sure to memorize them.

*

You’re Dirk again, and you’re feeling kind of dizzy from the shift in perspective. You’re lying on a bench at the back of the arcade, head hanging limp over the edge. You don’t actually have anything to do here today because it’s your day off, but you’re kind of curious about this mysterious Jon person. You have a feeling they’re going to show up today. You were certain of that every day since you wrote your message, but this time you’re really _really_ sure.

You get up to mess with the machine again, thinking maybe you could add in some horses, when you hear a faint stomping and find yourself tackled to the ground by a very angry boy.

“It’s _you!!_ ” he cries, your collar fisted up in his grip. “ _’You must think you’re so goddamn cool, don’t you_ ’—YES I DO, ACTUALLY!! I SOLVED YOUR STUPID CODE AND YOU’RE A STUPID HACKER WHO RUINED HOURS OF WORK AND EFFORT! HOURS!!!!”

He’s spitting mad at you, and maybe it’s the swell of eighties music and the flashing lights and the cacophony of people hovering just outside the threshold of this sacred untouched place, but you think he looks rather… attractive? You didn’t actually think he could solve your stupid cipher; you didn’t think he would even _know_ it was a cipher but now that you find yourself in this situation your mouth goes dry and you can’t formulate a response. He doesn’t seem to mind because he’s still going. “You owe me damages! A thousand tokens!! A MOUNTAIN of tokens!!”

He’s shaking you now, and it rattles the braincells in your empty head enough to bounce together and make a spark.

“Shit, dude, if you wanted tokens I can hook you up. I work here.” Smooth.

Well it’s certainly enough to give Jon pause. He sits up, still straddling you, and you are reminded of how painfully gay you are.

He considers you for a moment, then stands up and offers a hand to you to help you up. “Sorry about that.” He looks almost sheepish now.

“Don’t be. Sorry about your score, I was just messing with the programming.”

The range of emotions that plays across his face right then almost gives you whiplash. He rushes forth and grips your hand in both of his with an intent expression on his face. You’re not sure what to make of it. His eyes are _so_ blue.

*

He invites you out on a date. You’re not sure it could be called a date actually, but the two of you are eating ice cream and sitting on the fire escape in the alleyway next to the arcade, legs swinging freely through the gaps in the railings. It’s quiet here, and more importantly, not smelly and sweaty, because you actually keep this place clean.

Jon breaks the silence. He smacks his lips, once, twice, and ventures, “So.”

“So.”

“You’re a programmer.”

“No, not really. At least, I wouldn’t put it that way. I just modded the game a bit.” You finish with a shrug.

Jon looks about ready to slap you. “Dude, are you actually serious right now. You added a leaderboard to a game from the eighties. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t even have the memory to store all those numbers like that.”

“Yeah, I added that.”

“See!” The glowing beam that is his smile stuns you a little bit. He has buck teeth and the smuggest grin and eyes that look like crescents. You turn away before it blinds you.

“I don’t see how that identifies me as a _programmer_.”

“What would you call it then?” That gives you pause. You guess it counts as programming, what you do. You really prefer to mess with the hardware aspect of technology. All you did was find a module that lets the machine read from SD cards and add a little code to let the game read and write from it. It’s really not all that much of a big deal.

You say as much to him, out loud. This time he really _does_ slap you. A little backhanded smack on the shoulder.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to call yourself a programmer, a hacker, a modder, whatever. I just think you should give yourself a little more credit! What you’re doing is really cool.” That last sentence comes out in a bit of a rush. You find yourself warming at his words.

You… you’re not really sure what to do with the emotions swirling inside of you right now. You’re not used to being praised this much, or at all if you’re being completely honest. It’s… nice. It feels nice to have your efforts seen and appreciated, even it was only ever something you did for yourself. You don’t tell him that though. Instead, you deflect.

“And how about you, master codebreaker?”

“Pfft, that? That cipher was for stupid babies. Did you even try? I mean, sorry, no offense, I didn’t mean it that way. I just knew immediately when I saw it that you were using a caesar cipher. And after that it only took a little bit of time for me to figure out the key.”

You point out, helpfully, that the key was your phone number.

“Oh man, wow, was it?” He laughs. It’s lilting, and hearing it makes your heart feel lighter. “I think the key I got was a lot shorter than a phone number, but I can see how that can happen. See when you get a large enough number, if it’s not a prime it kind of wraps back around to being a smaller number because you can still divide it, you follow me?”

You kind of don’t, but you let him continue.

“Okay, well, it’s hard to explain but, a caesar cipher makes use of numbers to shift letters around and since I think the one you used is a little bit modified, also adds a multiplicative factor to shuffle the order of the alphabet around as well. And I’m guessing your phone number is divisible by 29? If you used an actual prime number, like say 2^31 less 1 it might actually have taken me a bit of time—did you know that it’s a prime number? I find it extremely cool that the biggest number that can fit in 32 bits is prime. It’s just one of those really lovely coincidences that make you think being alive is worth it.”

You think that meeting this cute nerdy goober makes being alive worth it. You laugh, and he pouts a little, and that makes you laugh even harder.

You apologize to him, a little later when your laughter subsides. He must have still been a little bit offended though, because he stays quiet for a bit, staring down at the ground beneath you.

When he pipes back up it’s to ask you innocently “how you even did that without knowing how prime numbers work” and you double over laughing once more. You don’t know either, you’re a hands-on kinda guy and you mostly just touch wires together. You found some stupid code online and you spliced it on there and changed the numbers a bit. You tell him that and ask him whether _that_ makes you a programmer.

“I’m pretty sure every programmer does that. It’s a rite of passage! StackOverflow is basically opensource, right? I can’t actually program, but I am subbed to r/programmerhumor which I think should count for _something_.”

You smile at him. There is a warm glowing feeling nestled deep in your belly, one that wants you to show him everything—your world, of metal and logic and loops and wires—because he can understand, because he _sees_ you.

You tamp that feeling down as best as you could, because you’re overbearing even in the best of times, and you don’t think he’s ready for you to pull out your breadboards just yet. You’d love to though, because while programming isn’t your passion, it obviously is _his_ , and you want to encourage that.

*

“Anyway, I think I should head home soon.” It falls down upon you suddenly like a sheet of rain.

You look up and see the sun about to set.

Jon laughs and pats you on the shoulder before getting up to stand on the fire escape. “I’m not leaving forever dude! I’ll come visit. You live here, right? Or… Or!” He claps excitedly. “You can come visit me at my place; I have Missile Command at home now too and you can mess with the machine there if you want. It feels kind of different to play without the scoreboard. And the butt banner.”

“You… you have Missile Command at home.”

“Yeah, I got it like, last week. For practice, y’know.” He bought a whole-ass arcade machine to practice on so he can dunk on you. Wow.

“Shouldn’t you be more careful about inviting strangers home?”

“What, like we don’t know each other intimately already? This is basically like, our fourth date.” So this _is_ a date. Noted.

The two of you clamber down the escape.

Before the two of you part ways you give him your phone number, scribbled hastily on a piece of scrap paper.

"Wow thanks, I actually thought I was going to have to reverse engineer it from the cipher key, which WOULD be a fun exercise!! Hahaha actually take that number back right now—" He shoves the paper back in your hands, and you protest because you really want to talk to this boy sooner rather than later but he promises he'll get back to you in record time.

You tuck it in your back pocket and stretch out a hand to shake. You guys have been doing this all backwards, but better late than never, right? He takes it anyway and his grip is firm, hands rough, and you try not to linger to much on the feeling of his warm palm against yours. “Name’s John. With an H. Nice to meet you.”

“Dirk.”

John dithers in place for a bit before taking your hand back to pull you close. He places a chaste kiss on your cheek before he absconds. He’s already at the curb by the time you gather your wits about you and he’s waving, and you wave back kind of robotically.

“Bye Dik! Tell your brother I said hi!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it cuts off abruptly at the end. Actually I'm NOT sorry, writing is hard >:O
> 
> Also, this was pretty fun!! Shoutout to my server buddies bc y'all are enablers thank you thank you thank you I can't believe my stupid ass actually finished a thing. I can fade to dust now, knowing I've left a legacy.
> 
> Maybe watch out for a part 2? who knows.


	2. Chapter 2

You’ve barely made it home when your phone vibrates.

??: is this dirk?

A quick look at the notifications sends you dashing across the hall. You toss your jacket over the couch (to the muffled protests of your brother, who was situated between said jacket and couch) and head straight for your room. You lock the door and ignore the subsequent pounding. You’ll deal with him later.

??: it probably is. :B

??: so i couldn’t wait to get home to try and crack your number!

??: it wasn’t too hard. turns out there aren’t that many ten-digit numbers divisible by 29 that start with our area code that also happen to be in use.

??: the other guy i messaged wasn’t too thrilled about it, though.

You settle down comfortably on your mattress and take ten minutes to craft a casual reply.

DIRK: You some kind of math wizard or something? You did this all in your head.

JOHN: oh no! there’s a trick to finding numbers divisible by 29.

JOHN: okay yes in my head.

DIRK: Wow. Okay, any other cool tricks you can do?

JOHN: i have plenty!

JOHN: i’m a regular circus act.

JOHN: egh. bluh.

JOHN: i would rather hear more about you?

DIRK: Surely you’ve heard enough about me from my brother.

JOHN: not really...

DIRK: Why don’t we make it into a game?

The sheer enthusiasm coming from John’s bright blue “sure!” punches you so hard, metaphorically speaking, that you actually raise a hand to cup your cheek. It feels warm. Aw, _fuck_.

Your face colors further when you realize you didn’t exactly think this one through. Curse your stupid, traitorous, overeager brain. Luckily John saves you the trouble of having to bluff your way out of the hole you just dug yourself.

JOHN: what kind of game do you have in mind?

JOHN: trivia? twenty questions?

JOHN: strip twenty questions?

Jesus Christ. This boy is actually going to kill you dead. Any minute now Dave is going to shatter your door and find you lying face down, all the blood in your body gone completely to your head. Your post-mortem report is going to read “death by flustration”. How would strip twenty questions even _work_?

DIRK: Whoa there. Hold your horses.

DIRK: Regular twenty questions is fine, thanks.

DIRK: First to guess wins what?

JOHN: learning new things about each other isn’t reward enough?

DIRK: No.

Well, yes actually, but you don’t tell him that. You’re really just trying to collect your cool, which you’ve managed to clumsily spill all over the goddamn floor.

JOHN: how about a picture? i’ll send you a selfie if you manage to guess my thing in less turns than yours.

DIRK: Alright. I’ll play. We alternate?

JOHN: sure.

JOHN: can i go first? i’ve already thought of something.

DIRK: Okay.

JOHN: is it something you can touch?

DIRK: Yes. Is your thing something YOU can touch?

JOHN: hey, no repeats!

DIRK: What is this, Calvinball? I do what I want.

DIRK: Ok, fine.

DIRK: Is it an abstract concept?

JOHN: no. is it in your room?

It continues in that fashion for quite some time. You don’t actually have anything in mind, you’re just tossing in random answers as you please. It’s only a dozen questions in when it dawns on you that you’re no closer to guessing John’s than you were at the beginning.

DIRK: You’re describing a dragon.

JOHN: am i?

DIRK: Okay, thirteenth question: is it a dragon?

JOHN: no. :B

JOHN: you just wasted a question.

DIRK: Did I? I think I narrowed down my options somewhat significantly. Your turn.

JOHN: you’re bluffing.

DIRK: I’ve been told I have an extremely good poker face.

JOHN: good thing i’m great at card games! poker is a card game right?

DIRK: Yes. You just wasted a question.

JOHN: well shit. your turn then.

DIRK: What happens if we end this at a draw?

JOHN: that’s not a yes or no question, numbnuts.

JOHN: i guess we start over? best two out of three.

JOHN: i’m gonna win though.

DIRK: I sincerely doubt that.

JOHN: shows what you know!

Okay now you know _for sure_ he’s fucking with you. Which, you know, fair. There’s no way he can guess anything with the answers you’ve given so far. And, looking at the answers _he’s_ given so far, you’ve both got jack and shit. You really want that selfie though. Maybe he’ll fold—hahaha you doubt it.

You finally notice the door’s been quiet for some time, and you open it. Dave tumbles over from the other side, which you expected.

“You fell asleep in front of my door again.”

Dave collects himself from where he lay sprawled over the threshold, mumbling as usual. “You locked your door again.” He squints up at you through his shades. “What have you been up to.”

You crouch down to meet his gaze and give him a Look. "What do you think. Why would a perfectly spry, healthy young man such as myself, lock the door that he keeps so graciously open for vagrants like you to waltz in and out of like a convenience store?"

He claps his cheeks in mock horror. "Noooo," he drags out, scandalised.

"Fuck off man, I know why you take five goddamn weeks in the shower. Have to fill out an application every time I want to take a fucking piss.”

You pull him up to his feet. “Just piss in your aj bottles like a true gamer. God knows you have a fuckton of those lying around in your bedroom.”

Dave pauses mid-step. “Have you been talking to John?”

He interrupts his own train of thought before you get a chance to give anything away. “Anyway—” He goes on to tell you about the day he's had, planting himself on your bed like he owns it (he does, partially) and you swipe your phone away from his reach before he notices the flood of blue texts on it.

You take a seat on your desk and hum and nod at the appropriate cues. "Oh is that what she said?" You unlock your phone.

JOHN: it's still your turn.

JOHN: you give up yet?

JOHN: i guess could give you a hint if you're really REALLY stuck, since i already know i'm gonna win.

JOHN: or... or!!!

JOHN: i could give you a preview of what you could be missing.

He sends you a link to an image. Your thumb quivers over the button.

“—then Rose messages me of all people in the middle of the night to wail on me for letting Jade carry the rest of the project when she was the one who insisted—”

It’s a picture of a dog. You save it anyway.

DIRK: I will treasure it always.

DIRK: I’ll take the hint.

JOHN: i already gave you the picture!

DIRK: The picture is the hint?

JOHN: could be! are you using your question to ask?

DIRK: No thanks.

He’s bullshitting you. There’s no _possible_ way that it could be a hint. You’ve crossed out pretty much any living breathing being so far, real and fictional. Unless it’s a coded message…? Well, it’s not _totally_ out of the question.

DIRK: Is the photo a coded message?

DIRK: Yes, I’m using my question.

JOHN: nope!

You feel a headache coming on. Fuck it, you’re giving up. You can get photos of him any time if you wanted, but this is valuable insight into his thought processes, some method to his madness. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

DIRK: Alright, I fold. You win.

DIRK: What is it?

JOHN: hahahahahaha.

JOHN: gotcha. :B

JOHN: i wasn’t thinking anything at all!

DIRK: ...

DIRK: Of course you weren’t.

JOHN: i’m laughing so hard, funny man. very incisive commentary.

JOHN: i still win, so i don’t really care.

DIRK: Does it really count if you were cheating?

JOHN: it’s not cheating if there weren’t any rules to break!

DIRK: Ok, fair.

DIRK: Not really but I’m accepting the loss graciously as a man of fucking honor.

JOHN: how downright chivalrous of you, dear sir.

JOHN: i am swooning.

DIRK: I proceed to catch you in my arms, which are swole, and my bod, bodacious.

JOHN: haha make sure to capture that energy in that selfie you owe me.

You look up from your phone to find Dave staring straight at you. It’s a bit too late to try to smooth your features into something resembling Strider Stoic, so you tilt your head at him.

“Storytime over?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, you spaced out sometime before you gave me permission to take your car for the weekend.”

“I won’t ask if you won’t ask.” You slide open your desk drawer and toss him the keys. He catches it, slides off the bed, and sees himself out.

You close the door. Lock it once again for good measure.

Now. About that selfie.

You have a flip phone.

Imported straight from Japan, it’s orange and shiny and it’s kitted with charms that are bulkier than the phone itself. It whaps your hands every time you whip it around. It does calls, texts, emails, and that’s it. It’s perfect.

It also happens to have a camera, but you’ve actually never used that feature until today. Guess now is a good time for a test run? Oh boy. How to do this.

It doesn’t have a _front_ camera, so you have to try to figure out the right angle to take your photo from. You slip off from where you’re perched on your desk, but your phone accidentally knocks off your pen stand and sends pens clattering all over the floor. _Fuck._

You crouch to pick them up one at a time and smack your head on the table when you try to get up to put them back in. _Double fuck._

Then you slip on a pen you missed and it sends your flat ass back on the ground. Your back hurts now. _Mother of all fucks._ Who cursed you?

You contemplate your luck (whilst also simultaneously disputing its realness factor) from your place on the cold uncarpeted floor. Your head kind of hurts and so does your back and you’re more than a little bit grumpy at this turn of events. So you simply snap a photo of yourself from under the desk, hair disheveled, goose egg starting to form, a little flushed. It’s _gap moe_ , you whisper to yourself.

You send it.

Then you promptly pass the fuck out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its funny bc this was actually a short prelude to actual bit i wanted to write and then it grew a head and some arms and anyway im sorry to subject you to this madness
> 
> also there was a short crockercut that went like this: 
> 
> JOHN: haha make sure to capture that energy in that selfie you owe me.  
> DIRK: I’ll be sure to wear my most princely attire.  
> JOHN: clothes???  
> DIRK: ...
> 
> see you in part 3! maybe!


End file.
